


In Want, But Nott Desiring

by hufflepirate



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Sleep, Sleepy Cuddles, Tumblr: criticalprompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-10 22:51:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17434973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflepirate/pseuds/hufflepirate
Summary: A few days after his escape from prison with his new goblin friend, Caleb thought-spirals his way into a panic attack by the campfire. He knows better than to desire comfort, but somehow, he still gets it.Answer to a prompt by @criticalprompts on tumblr:  Growing up, Caleb had learned not to want–that just led to disappointment.  Later, he had learned that to want was to give yourself over to dark impulses.  But, now, just for this moment, just this once, he could afford to treat himself.





	In Want, But Nott Desiring

Caleb turned his back on the fire and found himself looking out into the darkness, which wasn't much better. He shivered, pulling in on himself. Looking into the fire was no good. It was dangerous. There were too many memories in it. But the darkness - he squeezed his eyes shut tight, just trying to breathe.

His memories were less jumbled now than they'd been when he first got them back, more neatly slotted back where they belonged after he'd spent more time, more days out of these five "sane" years, lost in his own mind trying to get a grip on them. He still couldn't get them to stay entirely where they belonged. They always seemed to drift more around fire, and more at night, and things were tangling together again.

He'd never liked the dark. Not as a child. Not as a student. Not as a patient. Not as a prisoner. Not now. But the only thing stranger than remembering how long he'd hated it was the memories that kept springing up, unbidden, of his mother pulling him into her arms after the sun had set, holding him close and singing him lullabies until he wasn't so scared anymore.

He remembered, now. He remembered remembering, before he broke, and trying not to. He felt bad when he tried not to remember now, because not remembering then had been - had been -

His breath was coming too fast and he tried to slow it down.

He'd learned not to think of his parents anymore while he was with Trent. He'd learned not to want them, not to miss them, not to want their touch, their comfort, their presence, and he'd learned not to want them long before the end, long before the fire, long before breaking. Something about that lesson was still here every time he thought of them and thinking of them hurt. Something about the familiarity of the lesson hurt, too.

The darkness behind his eyes seemed to be whispering to him as he tried to keep his breath steady.

 _Do not desire comfort_. _It is not coming. You do not deserve it._

He could not want his mama right now, because she was not coming. She was not coming because he had killed her. She would not have been coming before, because he had been away from her.

He had known better than to want Trent at times like this, at times when it was _nothing_ that was wrong, when it was just the dark, just the night, just the world, just the sudden sense of everything-wrong that took over his brain when he was most afraid, even though there was nothing to be afraid of.

Trent would do nothing about it. Trent would hit him across the face for fearing when nothing was wrong. And his mother would not be allowed to come. Would never have been allowed to come. Could never come, now, even if she wanted to, even if it was allowed. And it would still be dark outside.

He was panting, and in spite of his best efforts he couldn't stop it, his breath coming harder instead of softer as he squeezed his eyes shut tighter and clenched his hands into fists. The feeling of his nails digging into his palms between the layers of bandages on his hands was grounding, but he couldn't _breathe_ and now all he wanted was to stop feeling - to stop feeling - was he _dying_?

His heart raced in time with his breath and he wanted _something_ with everything that was in him. He didn't even know how to put his desires into thoughts anymore. All he knew was how to want _not this, please please not this_, and whatever "not this" was, he _wanted_ it.

He had to live. He had to go back. To rewrite time. To fix things. To have the things he'd wanted, before he learned not to want them anymore. Before he learned not to _want_ at all. He had to live and he couldn't live like _this_ and he _didn't want this_ and when a thin body pressed itself up against his back, he flinched hard.

"It's alright!" Nott said, her voice still only half familiar in his panic, "Caleb! It's just me!"

He tried to answer, but it came out as a high-pitched whine around the panting.

Nott's claws were sharp, but as they carded through his hair they were too gentle to cut him, and he felt a whimper make its way out of his throat unbidden, as he continued to fight for breath.

"Oh, Caleb." Nott sounded sad, but that must just have been the empty howling in his ears, brought on by the panic and the tangle and the buzz of _no-ahhh-bad-all-bad._

His breathing was louder, now, and harder, and he couldn't hide the panting from her with her wrapping her arm around his back like this, but at least he managed to stop himself from making any other shameful, pathetic sounds around it.

He pulled in tighter on himself and Nott made a soft distressed noise in his ear, her fingers still gentle in his hair. "Nonono," she said, sounding frightened herself, "No, you can't breathe like this, you have to sit up. Caleb, you have to sit up!"

All of a sudden she let go of his hair and moved, tugging at his arm and pulling him halfway over toward his back.

He went with her because it was easier than fighting, opening his eyes to make the movement less disorienting as he rolled over and then let her lever him up into a sitting position. Her eyes were wide, the pupils inside expanding farther than usual in the dark, and then she was kneeling right up against him, stroking his hair again, and he couldn't bring himself to look at her.

As soon as he'd closed his eyes again, still breathing hard, Nott pulled his head down onto her shoulder. "It's ok, Caleb. It's ok. We-" she seemed unsure for a moment of what to say - "We made it out."

Even with his eyes closed, he could remember the way her face had looked in the firelight, afraid. Of course he could remember it. He could remember _everything_.

But with her face clear in his mind, he knew she needed an answer. She was afraid, and she'd be afraid until he answered, and he couldn't abandon her like that.

He nodded, knowing that she'd feel the motion against her shoulder, if nothing else.

The sigh that whooshed past his ear sounded relieved. Good. Good. That was good.

His own breathing continued like it had before, hard and rough and panicked, but she'd been right about sitting up, and the knowledge that she was calmer helped even though he couldn't let himself think too hard about why. The claws in his hair stilled, cradling his head against her shoulder, but her other hand was moving slowly across his back and it felt - good.

He did not cry, because he could not cry, did not _deserve_ to cry, did not deserve that kind of relief, could not make that kind of allowance to himself, but it was a close thing. As the panting finally started to slow, he couldn't stop his breath from coming in deep gasps that were too close to sobs, but he _wasn't crying_. When Nott switched again from rubbing his back to stroking his hair, he realized she was also murmuring softly to him, and he did not let himself think about why. "There you go," she whispered, "There you go. You're ok. You're ok. That's better. There you go."

He pulled away from her before his breath was all the way under control, because this was too much. More than he deserved. More than he could allow himself. But as he opened his eyes to study her face, things seemed ok.

She smiled, all teeth and too many teeth, and he felt his own mouth pulling instinctively into a smile to answer it. "I knew you'd be ok," she said, a sentence he knew her too well, even after these paltry few days, to take as anything but "I was afraid you weren't ok."

"I am alright," he said, his voice coming out croaky because his rapid breaths had dried his throat out.

"You need water," Nott said decisively, stepping away to grab the small water skin she'd stolen from a merchant caravan while they were camped for the night. She scurried across the camp and back fast - too fast - and then she was shoving the skin into his hand and all he could do was take it.

The water soothed his throat and gave him a moment to collect himself. When he lowered the skin again, he found her staring at him intently, still a little worried, and he was suddenly reminded, powerfully, of a cat in distress.

"I am alright," he said again. "I am - sorry."

Nott's brow furrowed. "What are you sorry for, Caleb?"

He looked down, away from her face, and stared at her shoulder instead. "I am - very foolish sometimes." He looked back up into her eyes, and then away again. "I remember things I shouldn't. I want things I shouldn't. But I am - I am alright."

She stepped close again, getting up into his space and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He lifted his arms to rest against her back and tucked his head into her chest. "That's good," she answered, "I'm glad you're alright."

"Why?" he asked, before he could bite the question back. It was muffled against the ragged cloth of her robe, but she heard him anyway.

"Because I _want_ you to be alright," she said, sounding stubborn. He breathed deeply, trying to steady himself in the face of an idea that huge.

He did not deserve this. Did not deserve the sentiment. Did not deserve _her_. Did not deserve to be held. Should not allow himself to expect it.

He pulled away again, turning his back on her, and looking down at the ground. "You should not."

"Hmph." Her dissatisfaction was obvious even before she stomped around to stand in front of him and then plopped down cross-legged and leaned forward to get her face under his gaze. "You and me got out of jail _together_ ," she said, her tone of voice demanding an answer.

"Ja," he said softly, twisting his head farther to look away from her.

"We got out _together_."

He grunted. It was still true. He didn't know what she wanted.

"You have _magic_."

He nodded.

"You could have _killed_ me, if you wanted." He looked up, surprised, but she just kept going. "You could have killed me, or you could have trapped me again after you got out, or you could have run a different way from me once we were outside, but you didn't. We got away _together_."

"That is true, but-"

"But nothing," she said stubbornly. "We got away _together_ and I want you to be ok, and that's the way it is."

He found himself, impossibly, laughing.

Nott waited for him to finish, head tilted slightly to the side and one eyebrow raised.

"No, I-" he started. "It is-"

He took a deep breath, calming himself the rest of the way down, and reached for her hand. She gave it to him, and he squeezed it gently as he looked her in the eye.

"Nott, it never could have occurred to me to hurt you - or -" he looked down for a moment and then back up, "It could not by then. You were - you were kind to me. And you told me we could get out of there, and you _got_ us out of there and I could not - I could never-"

She leaned forward all of a sudden, grinning, and kissed him on the forehead before he could move one way or another. "I'd never hurt you either, Caleb. We're going to be alright."

"Why are you still here?" he asked, mind spinning too hard from the surprise of the kiss for him to stop the words from falling out of his mouth.

"You helped me," she said. "That's new."

He swallowed, trying to convince himself it was just residual dryness in his throat from before. "Ja, that is - it is rare, I think. I have been helped once before, but the woman who helped me was not - she was - it was all that she could do, and then there was no more. Not like you and me."

"You and me," she echoed, thoughtfully. "Yes. That's it now, isn't it? You and me? For now?"

He wanted to say "forever," but he knew better than to consider wanting such a thing. "Ja. For now. Just the two of us."

He couldn't bring himself to look at her face, not after he hadn't said what he wanted-didn't-want-couldn't-want, so he cleared his throat. "But we should - ah - probably go to sleep, ja? It is - it is very late and the alarm spell is only 8 hours and then we will have to get up again."

He dared to look at her, and her face was harder than usual to read, which probably meant he had hurt her, because that was what he did to people who cared about him, and he forced his face into a smile anyway. "That was good, by the way. Stealing the thread for the alarm. It was very good of you."

Her answering smile wasn't as big as he was used to, without so many teeth, and it was strange to realize that he didn't like the way it felt to see fewer teeth when he looked at her. "Well," she answered, "He had _gold_ thread, so I thought he wouldn't miss the silver. And it's pretty."

"Yes," he said, switching fully into Common as he concentrated on her, on being careful about his words.

"Are you going to be alright, if you try to go back to sleep in the same spot?" she asked.

"I-" he should say yes, but he didn't know how to guarantee it.

"Do you want to - I mean-" She looked fidgety again, a familiar nervousness in the way her hands twisted together, scrunching up the fabric at the side of her robe, but then she got a grip on the feeling and raised her chin, nostrils flaring out stubbornly. "I think you should come over to the other side of the fire with me. I can keep an eye on you for a while."

For a moment he had no answer, and a moment was all she needed to spring to her feet and grab onto both his hands to pull him up beside her.

He let her lead him, protesting weakly. "No, Nott, you do not need -"

"Oh, hush, Caleb," she said, "You are very foolish sometimes, but _I_ want to look after you."

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "I heard what you did there."

She was always listening. Always listening. That was new, too. As new as help. Maybe newer.

He felt her eyes on him as he laid down again, still keeping his face turned carefully away from the fire. She sat down once he was settled, but stayed nearby, near enough for him to hear her breathing and sense that she was close.

He was still awake and staring seven minutes later, when she spoke again, quiet. "Did something hurt you, over there? Or is it just - that thing that happens to you sometimes?"

"It just happens," he answered. He did not tell her he deserved it. He did not tell her he opened himself up for it, when he wanted things he should not.

He heard her shuffling around before she appeared in front of him again, plopping down cross-legged for a second time, so close she almost hit him in the nose with her knee. "Here," she said, "Put your head in my lap. I'll keep the bad things away."

He was surprised again, too surprised to answer.

She started prying at his shoulders and he rearranged awkwardly, wriggling so that he could follow her directions and then getting up to his hands and knees to move all the way around when he decided the angles of it all were too awkward.

It took them longer than he thought she'd probably expected to settle down comfortably, but once they did, she started carding her fingers through his hair again, like she had when he was panicking, and as he closed his eyes, he let himself focus on it, and on the warmth of her stomach pressed up against his head, and on the casual placement of her other wrist on his shoulder, and on the imperfect warmth of their one stolen blanket, which she'd thrown awkwardly and crookedly over most of him.

As the thoughts from before started to come for him again, buffeting him in a rush like they'd just been waiting for him to close his eyes, he reached back to hold her hand where it rested on his shoulder, overshooting and ending up with a grip on her wrist that was, nonetheless, comforting.

She hummed softly, tunelessly, not any kind of song he knew, maybe not any kind of song at _all_ , because he had a hard time imagining goblins did much singing in their caverns, but it was good, and he focused on it and on his breathing, and he was ok.

He wasn't allowed to want this. Couldn't dream of wanting it. Couldn't imagine a world where he'd be brave enough for a desire like that. But he _had_ it. And for tonight - for tonight letting himself have something good was almost the same as wanting it.

He fell asleep in comfort, and allowed himself to imagine that he was loved.

Nott stroked her boy's hair until her head grew too heavy to do anything but twist around and fall asleep draped across his back.


End file.
